Parallel Sides
by destiel-at-221b
Summary: A life is lost after a jump, and her uncle has gone into depressed mode, Cas needs to travel to England to... should we say... help him out. Cas soon learns there is more to the jump, and that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes have a secret they didn't even know about...


**Disclaimer: **I do not own any part of Sherlock BBC

* * *

You know, in life, you get a lot of crap from a lot of people. I get crap from the kids at school, who are massive a-holes, but that's normal. I get crap from cousins, aunts, uncles, and best friends.

And so, I give them their comeuppance.

I may or may not have dumped a bucket of black paint on my spray-tanned aunt.

And I may or may not have ransacked a couple dozen people's sleeping bags when we went camping.

And I may or may not have tied a few of my uncles to a chair...

And left them there for a couple of hours.

But my pranking days are long gone now, and I the biggest prank I've ever pulled in the past two years was letting a tarantula loose at my cousin's wedding. What can I say? She was asking for it!

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM ! WHERE THE HELL'D YOU PUT MY DOCTOR WHO MUG?" I called down to mom who was probably overly organizing my trip to England.

Again..

For the seven billionth time today.

"DO YOU HONESTLY NEED TO BRING THAT STUPID COFFEE CUP EVERYWHERE YOU GO?" She screamed.

I staggered my breath. A _stupid _coffee cup? Stupid? A coffee cup? You've gotta be kidding mom, really. My precious mug, sitting all alone in who-knows-where, letting my mother's crude comments slap it in the face.

Or, I guess in its case, the handle.

I ran down the narrow hallway, down a short flight of stairs and made my way into the kitchen. Mom had all our mugs and coffee cups (yes, there is a difference), hanging above the sink. My eyes scanned the mugs and cups, searching for my beautiful masterpiece mug. In the centre of the line, it was there. So I grabbed it, ran up the stairs, down the hall and into my room, just to see my mother hunched over my suitcase, feeding through until she was satisfied with what I had packed.

"How many shirts?" She asked, looking at me dead in the eye.

"30. Rolled up, specially placed in colour coordinated order." I said, automatically.

"Pants?" She ran down her mental list.

"10 khakis, 30 jeans."

"Socks? Under things?"

"Enough." I responded lamely, which didn't please her.

"If I dare get a call from Clara, you will be in so much trouble Cassandra, you will be a whole boatload of trouble." And she left the room, muttering how she still has to drive me to the airport in less than three hours.

"YOU PACKED BOOTS, RUNNERS, FANCY CLOTHES AND SHOES RIGHT?" She hollered at me once more.

"YES!" I answered, as I quickly shoved all those things into my suitcase.

* * *

"Listen to everything Clara says, okay?" Mom asked, kissing me on the forehead. It was my first time going some place without her, so she was horrified.

"I will, mom. Don't worry." I promised.

"And when you are on the plane, listen to the instructions in case of an emergency evacuation." I nodded again.

"And remember that your uncle John will pick you up from the airport and that you will be taking a taxi to his place, okay?" I looked up at her and noticed small tears welling up in her eyes.

"I'll pay for the taxi ride, and-" But that's when she cracked, crying into my shoulder.

I patted her on the back, and smiled a little. I helped mom a lot with her drinking problem, once I understood what she was going through. "But you have to promise me one thing."

She stood up and wiped her eyes. "Anything."

"Don't pick up a bottle of beer, or alcohol at all. Can you do that for me?" And I received a nod in return.

"Promise."

"Good. Now, I have to get on the plane. I'll call you when I get to uncle John's okay?" She hugged me, and stepped back, allowing me to go.

"Have fun, Cas." She used my nickname.

There is a lot of things Canada has to offer. But if I want to "grow up" as mom is always complaining that I should do, I need to leave the country. Alone.

I exhaled, grabbed my carry-on and walked towards the ticket desk. I turned around once, and saw mom waving at me, and I waved back. She smiled, and I smiled back.

My God, that's so cheesy. It sounds like that freaking Justin Bieber song.

My face turning red because of that realization, I turned around and stood in front of the ticket desk, and handed the lady my passport and boarding pass.

"Mmm," she muttered. "First class on British Airways."

She smiled at my ticket and said "Fancy."

Looking at her, I smiled back. "Very."

"Alright then, miss Watson, have a lovely flight." She typed in something into her computer hub and handed my things back to me.

"Thank you," I muttered and I walked towards the entrance of the plane.

The grey tunnel was brightened by pale lights that reflected and enhanced the grey cloth used as walls.

If you've never taken a plane before, let me explain.

When you first get into a plane, there's always that weird guy that stands at the entrance or mouth of the plane and inspects everyone and types in numbers into his fancy keyboard thing behind him. You need to look at for your isle and seat number because you don't want to sit in a total stranger's seat eh? Next, the plain crew (stewardesses or stewards whatever) are going to run through all the rules of the plane, like what to do if the plane crashes, if the oxygen levels are low, all that crap.

Then, they conclude saying, "Enjoy your flight and thank you, for flying British Airways."

That's when you can chill until the food comes.

Now, my lovely people, don't listen to what people say about airplane food. It's not as bad as it's made out to be. Depending on who you're flying with, it's not that bad. My top two for best airplane food is definitely Air Canada and British Airways...

Explains why I'm here.

And if they ever ask you if you want beef, chicken or vegetarian, go chicken.

It's the best.

Unless, of course, you are a vegetarian...

Then go do what you like.

And, again, depending on who you're flying with, keep the little plastic, square water bottle they give you. It actually passes customs.

As you can see, I know a lot about planes. I've gone to Germany and back via Lufthansa, to Australia, Austria (yes there is a difference,) to America a couple hundred times (at least) and Russia, Slovakia, Romania, Spain, Portugal and tons of other places.

But I've never gone to England.

Mom is from England.

Well, both moms are.

But I call the other one Clara because I don't want to call them mom number one and mom number two. That just sounds rude.

I have two moms, not because dad remarried, but because mom is a lesbian.

So, naturally, I'm okay with everyone LGBT.

But no judging me, okay. It's just an opinion.

Mom and Clara got married in Canada after they moved from England a while back.

They adopted me before they got married, and I was about ten when they did.

So guess who got flower girl.

This girl!

I was all for it! Pink roses, chucking flowers at people, it was all a lot of fun.

The only problem was that uncle John couldn't come.

But when I get over there, I'm going to call him John, just for fun. And uncle makes him sound old.

He met this guy who's some super genius, and John stuck with him. But we sent him pictures so he was okay.

I'm sixteen now, and my mom says I have a knack for helping out depressed and stressed people who need it.

So mom sent me over here, not just to visit, but to help out John, too.

The genius guy jumped off this building to his death. It really struck John, because he was his best friend or whatever, so I guess I can see where he's coming from.

My best friend Mariah committed last year.

Killed herself, I mean.

So it was all really tragic.

I don't like thinking about it, but my lock screen on my phone is a picture of her and I.

The last picture I took with her, anyway.

But, moving on from all that sadness, I'm going over to see if I can help John out in any way.

And, mom said she'll buy me a better laptop if I do. So I'm totally team help.

But, great minds need beautyrest.

Oh, about that guy who jumped.

His name was Sherlock Holmes.

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**So? Is it any good? Five reviews? A follow maybe. Thanks.**

**-Johanna**


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